


Screw you I met a creepypasta cha-

by feral_quills



Series: Of the Few and Lesser Seen [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Improvitale (Undertale), Gen, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slow Burn, actually only one, but they're chaotic enough to make up for it, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feral_quills/pseuds/feral_quills
Summary: Geek is something of a myth among the outcodes. Someone only glimpsed at in the passing between worlds, someone you tell your friends about to pass the time. A classic multiversal ghost story.But what happens when someone catches him and wants to get a closer look? Will Geek finally let someone in, or will his story stay stuck in the shadows of the in-between?
Relationships: Sans & Sans (Undertale)
Series: Of the Few and Lesser Seen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991707
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Beta Tester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome.

The first time it happened was when Fresh was on his way to find someone to annoy (preferably Error, he was always fun). Fresh was hopping universes, folding time and space, playing at god, the works. He didn't expect to end up trapped for a… while (days don't really exist, he's lost all sense of linear, long term time)? In a maze of ambiguously familiar or vaguely nostalgic rooms. He recognized a few sprites from some of the different universes he’d visited but none of them seemed exactly... right. The way they caught the light, seeming to almost glitch in the spaces between seconds... very unnatural. Unnerving. This, coupled with the floaty, dreamlike feeling that clung to the inside of his skull like invisible smoke as he passed room after room of complete and utter pressing silence was enough to drive a monster crazy. Good thing he didn't have far to go.

He passed through abandoned shopping centers with spotty lighting, completely empty, yellowish rooms and halls with peeling wallpaper and lights that looked like they should have buzzed annoyingly, and hotel rooms that were strangely fuzzy around the edges, as if whispering at him not to look closer, nothing to suspect here, everything is f i n e. It gave him a headache trying to investigate.

He had the distinct feeling that whatever entity was doing this was probably laughing at him. His solution? Laugh with them. He clicked in the wheels of his heelys and continued through the rooms, narrating with false bravado to the feeling of eyes watching his every move. If he couldn't hear himself while he did it? That was fine. He pretended it was funny. Make a witty comment, move on.

He eventually lost count of how many rooms he passed, how many strangely distant, disconnected feeling tiled hallways he slid through, how many abandoned playrooms lacking toys he found his way out of, though he couldn't remember how.

There were very few doors. There were no windows. There were never any signs of life, including signs of abandonment like cobwebs or rot. There were no smells, no sounds, and everything he saw nudged at his mind not to look closer.

But he kept wheeling along, narrating with fake cheer, giving critiques here and there, pointing out little oddities and general maintenance. The unnerving feeling of a crowd of eyes analyzing him never left, but he tried to find peace in his predicament. 

Finally, it came to an end. A room fizzled out in the middle of a strangely split bed and time seemed to speed up. Or at least, come back. Strange, he never really noticed it had left.

It was jarring, getting all his senses back, like he was coming back to reality, even if he came back to the antivoid, whistling a cheerful tune as the world -or lack thereof- seemed to glitch and corrupt around him and a sharp ringing came and went from his head. His eye sockets were still clearing of neon corruption when he saw the faintest flash of dark grey and purple. Ah. he probably should've guessed by now.

Fresh’s life was nothing close to ordinary, but you still don't go around expecting to get kidnapped by what’s essentially an urban legend across the multiverse. This was his first run in with the entity so ironically yet accurately appointed Geek. Backrooms guy extraordinaire. A myth among outcodes, with moral ambiguity somewhere between Ink and Error. Another tragic backstory with a facade full of puns. A little deranged. As a treat. He was not someone you’d expect to have a casual run in with, and was famous mostly for his intricate pranks like the one he’d just puppeted Fresh through. It was fine. Fresh just supposed he had his own ways to have fun.

He stopped wheeling and quickly whirled around to where he saw the motion, intent on getting a better look at the outcode. There weren't that many stories describing him, and none of them seemed to agree, except on the fact that his color palette mostly consisted of neon purple and black. He couldn't be that evasive, right? Perhaps no one ever tried to get a good look at him.

Wrong. As soon as Fresh moved, the blur moved again.

Welp, whatever. Fresh was nothing if not annoyingly persistent, and he could wait for a while if necessary. Plus he was in a good mood today. Anything to get a closer look at what was basically an outcode creepypasta character. Fresh mentally saved his current coordinates and ducked through another shortcut, promising himself to check another day. For now, he was off to annoy an outcode he knew a bit better.

Geek was intrigued by his latest visitor. Not only had they dropped in by themself as he was editing his latest project, but they had also given him commentary? And, were those heelys?? Yeah, he would definitely find this one later. Maybe after he finished… oh! Maybe they could beta a few of his projects! Not willingly, of course, but they had given some helpful critiques. That decided it, then. He finally had his first beta tester, Yay!   
...Why did he have a sinking feeling in his nonexistent gut?


	2. Looking For The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infinite lives, infinite tries. What will you do when your carefully constructed kingdom of lies shatters before your eyes? Try, try again.

Day-ish 5 of searching for Geek, no luck yet. Although Fresh had saved last time’s coordinates, when he tried to ‘port there it was like everything had been… erased. Or moved. It was just. Blank. Now all that Fresh could do was monitor and explore the area around it, and keep a multidimensional eye socket out for any areas with major glitching or code rewrites.

Not as easy as it seemed. This time the glitches had led to another run in with a lesser seen outcode dubbed Fatal Error. He was… unfriendly, to say the least. But it was fine! Fresh got out (mostly) unscathed -though the fizzy, uncomfortable chill of the code strings still lingered- and everything was going fine. While Fresh was annoyingly persistent, his patience didn't last forever. He ‘ported and searched the next area with more fervor, still no luck. Geek, wherever he was, very much did not want to be found. Fresh decided to call it a day. If this (funk)er wanted to hide, let him do it. Coward. Fresh was tired.

Fresh took a step back, prepared a ‘port to back home and stepped through with a heavy sigh. At least that was over for n- wait. The atmosphere… the feeling of unseen eyes watching his every move… the oddly-familiar-but-not-familiar-enough-to-remember-where-you-saw-it landscape… Fresh blinked. Someone hijacked his god(dang) ‘port. He was back. Of aLL THE THINGS TO HAPPEN- okay. Relax. Breathe. It’s fine. This is a good thing! He can get through it and finally confront the skeleton himself.

Just some more backrooms to wheel through. Hopefully a repeated traumatic event like this would have no long term effect on his already rapidly declining mental health. Whatever. It was fine. Probably… Anyways! Fresh clicked the wheels into his Heelys -croc ones today- with another heavy sigh and started through the rooms with a fake smile and his usual commentary.

At least he could hear himself this time! And- he looked up. There was no roof. Anywhere. Just the all consuming black of the empty void yawning onward into forever. Fun stuff. He looked back down and rolled on. He just wanted to take a nap, broski, why now?

Fresh hoped he would be able to get more than a glance at the perpetrator this time. He was not wasting all his effort and getting no results. Absolutely not. He was not going through another round of backrooms just to- wait. That’s new.

There was a faint bubbling of laughter coming from somewhere nearby, a hall over maybe. It sounded… taunting. Like it should have been paired with a particularly nasty insult. Or a stupid one. Fresh didn't really know the difference. Most people got so annoyed with him they gave up on insults entirely. Cowards.

Fresh decided to go the most idiotic route, and seek out the source of the laughter. He pretended the silent whispering of the halls’ influence wasn't affecting him, rolling through endless hallway after endless hallway. The sound never seemed to get closer, and wasn't he just down this hall? Whatever, doesn't matter. Just. keep following the laughter until you get to the source and then- yes! There! He peered into a room with a single desk in the middle of the floor, a modern looking computer sitting on top. He took a hesitant step forward, and the sourceless laughter ringing against the walls quieted without so much as an echo. He walked up to the desk and found a sticky note attached to the screen of the computer. Fresh pulled the note off, going to inspect the writing before he was so rudely interrupted by a generic -loud- startup noise. No, he absolutely most certainly did not jump up in the air with a screech and promptly fall over on his coccyx, what are you, the cops?

Anyways. He got up and brushed himself off with a huff, then glanced back at the now operational computer. Strange… he hadn't turned it on. Hadn't even touched it, really.

He glanced at the sticky note currently taking residence on the floor, then glanced back at the computer. A generic search engine was already launched. Hm. Unsettling.

Fresh didn't know what possessed him next. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was the slowly rising sound of static in his head, only there if he focused hard enough, or maybe it was a sudden flashing vision of sneering grins in stark contrast against black and white; broad, curling claws raking across matter mercilessly, rending it to bits.  
_That could be him._

The very marrow in his bones screamed at him to _run_ , despite the whispering brush of influence the walls pushed at him to _go back_. His mind screamed over the whispers again, _run_ and don't look back until the room is far behind and the static fades and the sharp, invasive, berating peals of slightly manic laughter had been replaced with his huffing breaths and a subtle ringing behind his ear canals, almost silent behind the rush of his thoughts.

He tripped a few times, he's sure, probably looked some sort of stupid or crazy or both, but what mattered was that he didn't come into contact with the _thing_ he’d almost let out. It was strange, in hindsight. Fresh wasn't one to bolt out of fear unless he knew he was in immediate danger. It was like the carnal instinct to _escape, before it’s too late_ at the low shuffle of leaves in a forest clearing, the high crack of a branch that would send a doe running to the dark cover of trees.

He didn't like to think of it like that. He’s not weak. He’s _not_.

…

Yeah right.

Fresh continued on. As much as he’d like to curl up and take a nap right here and now, there’s no telling what sort of things could come out on their own, and he’d very much like to stay in one piece this run, thank you. He refused to be caught unawares.

Some might call him paranoid, the way Fresh rolled through the endless maze of hallways and rooms like it was a professional sport to stay as silent as possible, and he was going for the gold. The way he ducked onto a different path when the lighting got a bit spottier than usual or the din of the silent whispers of the hall shifted in the slightest. The way he clung to whatever hint of normalcy there was in the unreality of the situation. His last trek through the backrooms was fine -or so he convinced himself- but this time… his journey seemed longer this time around, though there was no tangible evidence of time passing in these strange, empty spaces. 

It probably was a combination of more danger to avoid, and the exhaustion he felt pressing against his bones, weaving into his skull, hammering against his eye-sockets with a vengeance. He was a sans at soul, and no sans in their right mind wants to be outside of their comfort zone. This place was overwhelming. Too much and not enough in all the wrong sorts of ways. 

He was noticing, the longer he stayed here, just how much he felt mentally, how little he felt physically. Overstimulation, he recognized distantly. There had to be some kind of joke in there, and he would’ve found it if he wasn't so _damn tired_. Huh. look at that. Too tired to filter. 

He let out a half delirious giggle- that was the only way it could be described, a tiny ‘heheheh’ that sounded almost forced out of him. He giggled until he was gasping for air, and then he giggled some more, leaning against the vaguely blurry walls. This was it. He’d completely lost it. He was gonna dust here, alone and unequivocally terrified out of his skull. The very thought made him giggle more, steadily rising in volume and strength until it was full blown hysterical laughter. Unhinged. Manic. He tasted his own dust in his mouth as he cackled, choked on it and coughed deeply, curling up on the floor and promptly passing out.

Fresh dreamed. He dreamed of being trapped in an hourglass, sand pouring into his mouth, his eye sockets, creeping into the subtle spaces between his bones. He felt every grain of it chafe and scrape against his skull, his ribs; he was hyper aware of it rubbing between every joint, into every small crack. He clawed at his spine uselessly with slowing movements. It was all too real, pressing in, choking him, strangling him, dragging him down as he gasped for breath that never came.

He stopped struggling.

**[Beta Tester 0.1 Respawned. Last Save Point Loaded. Good Luck]**


End file.
